Doppelgang'ed
by Interruption
Summary: Reid is acting strangely. BAU team, meet Matthew Reid, 28-year-old terror. Rating for language.
1. Matthew Takes the Bullpen

_A/N: _

_Summary: Reid is acting strangely. BAU team, meet Matthew Reid, 28-year-old terror._

_Notes: All I can say is lol. Matthew is loosely based off of Matthew Gray Gubler's portrayal of himself on "Matthew Gray Gubler: The Unauthorized Documentary". I friggin love those videos. Anyway, please pretty please review, my sweets :)_

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><p><strong>Doppelgang'ed<strong>

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><p>It was on an unremarkable Monday that Hotch walked into the bullpen, first there, as usual. He could usually expect Reid an hour or so later, and JJ after him; then Rossi, Prentiss and Morgan would punch in with a few minutes to spare (though Rossi had pulled the whole "I-invented-the-BAU" card on one occasion when he'd sauntered in on a slow day, thirty minutes late, for no apparent reason). By eight o'clock, Hotch could expect to see each and every member of the team at their desk and at work, sans Garcia, who liked to remain hidden in her lair until called for or it was time to present the case.<p>

At the very least, Hotch could at least expect to see those who were not at their desk in the break room, guzzling coffee. Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss both had a few minute's leeway before he would declare them late, and while JJ's hours were different than the rest of the team, it was the same for her; finally, Garcia was held to that same standard and always made sure to say "Good morning" to Hotch before burrowing into her lair. But Reid?

Reid couldn't be counted as officially late until after eight o'clock, and if he wanted to start coming in the same time Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi did, Hotch wouldn't have said anything about it. But Reid had come early since he'd been a probationary agent, at only twenty-one years of age—Hotch couldn't remember a time that he had been _late_, the time he'd spent recovering after Hankel excluded. Reid rode the same train to work every day, stopped at a coffee shop on the way from the metro to the office, and came in nearly the same time.

_Every. Day._

Reid was reliable, and had no reason to sleep in on a whim or change his schedule. Even if he missed one train, another would be there within five minutes or so—no, there was no reason for Reid to be late, or rather, to not be early.

And so, it was five past eight when Hotch began to really worry. At the very least, he would have called in sick by now. This wasn't like Reid at all.

He picked up his phone and was searching his contacts for the younger agent's phone number when a loud crash drew his attention to the bullpen. He could only hear a loud conversation from his office, though, and stood up and walked out to the catwalk to get a better look.

Hotch was suddenly glad that he hadn't called Reid, because he was right there, standing at Morgan's desk.

Before anything else, Hotch realized that he wasn't wearing his usual attire that made him look like a so-called "teacher's aide"—instead, he'd shown up in a pair of dark jeans that were so long that he'd cuffed them, and so skinny they looked like they might belong on a girl. Along with it he wore a velvet jacket, and a dark blue button-up. He looked more likely to be an actor in a hipster music video than a BAU profiler – hell, if Hotch didn't know better, he'd think that Reid was no older than nineteen. Altogether, along with the rumpled shirt that was in need of ironing, and the tie that hung loosely tied around his neck, he looked like a slightly overgrown teenager that had overslept for some sort of party. His hair was messy and looked almost _styled—_but Reid had never styled his hair before, right? Not like a nineteen-year-old boy, at least.

It looked like the crash had come from Morgan's inbox, which had been previously sitting on his desk full of files waiting to be completed, and which now sat on the floor, the forms and paperwork spread, out of order, all over the floor. But neither of them was moving to pick them up; instead, Reid was speaking quickly in his usual style of speaking, his hands moving as he talked. But it soon became clear to Hotch that the topic of conversation had nothing to do with anything even remotely intellectual.

"—I just really have to say, I'm not impressed," Reid was saying to Morgan, who was staring up at him like he'd grown another head. "I'm just _not_ impressed. I mean, sure, the whole business-casual thing? I get it, Derek. I do. I mean, you work out; you're an FBI agent, a real ladies' man. Why not flaunt what you've got a little? I _understand._ But, really? You're going with the whole "I'm-not-gonna-button-these-last-few-buttons-thing"? It's old. It makes your whole outfit look a little dated, to be honest. And how about a little subtlety? Then again, maybe Emily over here's playing hard to get."

Reid spun around and leaned nonchalantly against the filing cabinet by Prentiss' desk, as if he had been there all along. Morgan was still spluttering behind him, struggling to think of something to say.

"Ugh," Reid said, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Trust me. I know how you feel. Girls are all over me all the time. It's exhausting. But don't worry, baby, it doesn't have to be like that with you and me. We get each other, I can tell. And you want me, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. Hey, don't worry about it. I heard you wanted my phone number. I can understand why you'd be nervous about asking for it. I've broken tons of girls' hearts before. At least two, maybe three girls. Seriously. But here. I'll just write it on this, huh? How about that?"

He grabbed a manila folder that typically was used to put reports in and began scrawling on it in one of Prentiss' sharpie.

"…9…3…0," he muttered as he finished the last digits. "Call anytime. Well, maybe not _anytime_, because you're more like a seven. Or a six. But definitely not a ten, you know? I'm a ten. You understand. But definitely call if you want to have sex with me sometime. Which I know you do. Hey, don't worry about it."

Then Prentiss stood up and slapped Reid across the face.

Hotch realized he had been standing across the bullpen watching with his mouth hanging open for the last two minutes and shook himself out of it.

Meanwhile, Reid had become indignant and was cradling his cheek, pouting. "Fuck you!" he said loudly, and the whole bullpen stopped what they were working on to stare. "You know what, Emily? You know what? Fuck you! You know what, you're not even a six. You're like a six point five, okay. I mean a five point five. That's barely half of ten."

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you, Reid?" Morgan finally boomed. Reid spun around to look him in the eye, still cradling his cheek. The hurt on his face was obvious, but whether from the slap or Morgan's comment, Hotch couldn't tell.

"What do you mean?"

"REID, MY OFFICE. NOW."

Hotch really hadn't meant his voice to be that loud, but his brain had finally caught up with him and it told him he had to say _something, _anything, to stop the train wreck that was, at the moment, Reid.

Reid made a face. "Um, right now doesn't really work for me."

Hotch must have looked really scary in that moment, because suddenly Reid clapped his hands together and grinned.

"Ah, you know what, now's good. Now's great, actually. I just can't be late for my audition for Tommy Hilfiger later… or… um, you know what, we can skip that. Yeah, let's talk in your office."

Once Reid had followed him into his office, Hotch shut the door and pulled the blinds shut so that those still out in the bullpen wouldn't see what went on inside. "Sit down, Reid," he commanded as he did the same. Reid slunk sheepishly into the seat across Hotch's desk and gazed up at him in one of the best puppy-dog looks Hotch had ever seen, besides maybe on Jack.

_Since when does Reid give the puppy-dog look?_

"Reid, stop making Bambi eyes at me."

Reid's eyes only grew impossibly wider and more innocent.

"Reid! You do realize that you just sexually harassed Prentiss? And I don't know what was going on with you and Morgan, but this isn't like you at all! Are you—"

"Yeah, okay, see, the thing with Morgan is, that inbox was gonna fall _anyway_. Um, and I'm pretty sure I saw Emily knock it over."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose. Reid was sounding just like some obnoxious teenage girl at the moment, but without the high-pitched voice and the giggling.

"Reid, what has gotten into you?"

"Wha—gotten into _me_! It was all Prentiss and Morgan! I was framed! They're just jealous because they know I'm going to get that shoot with Tommy Hilfiger. Which reminds me, I need to be going soon."

Hotch stared.

He hated to think it, but maybe Reid was back on drugs. There were plenty of drugs that were known to cause a change in behavior after extended usage, or if Reid was somehow high right now, maybe—did that explain it? It didn't tell Hotch where Reid would have gotten a velvet jacket and girl's jeans from, but…

The door swung open suddenly, making Hotch jump and Reid to pause in his endless chatter that Hotch had managed to block out, if only for a moment.

"Hotch, I'm so sorry I'm late, my br—"

Reid was standing in the doorway, but he was no longer speaking; rather, he was gaping at the man sitting across from Hotch that looked exactly like him.

"Matthew, what are you doing here?"

The first Reid—Matthew—scowled. "You know what, fuck you, Spencer, okay! Fuck you! I can show up at your work if I want to! Hotch here was just telling me that I do your job ten times better than you do. Right, Hotch?"

"What. Is. Going. On. Reid, who is this?"

"Oh, this is my brother Spencer," the first Reid said. _Matthew. _"He's kind of a stick in the mud. I wouldn't worry about it. Spencer, you heard the man, leave."

Spencer sighed and covered his eyes with his hand as if he had a headache. "Um, Hotch, this is my brother, Matthew."

"Your brother." Hotch's voice was flat and monotone.

"Umm… yes. My twin brother. Who needs to leave _now_."

(The last few words were hissed with such vehemence that later, Hotch would shiver upon remembering it.)

"Yeah, okay, fuck you, Spencer! I know when I'm not wanted, okay! There aren't even any girls around here!"

He stormed out of the office, and Hotch watched him leave the bullpen, praying he wouldn't decide to turn around and come back.

_Please God, protect me from this and I'll go to Mass every Sunday until the day that I die, please God—_

And his prayers were answered as Matthew disappeared into the elevator.

Reid—the real, dressed-in-college-professor-clothes, un-hair-styled, no-chance-of-being-high one, that is—practically collapsed into the chair his brother had previously occupied.

"Hotch, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice barren of all energy. He sounded like Hotch did after a few hours chasing Jack around at the park. "What'd he do?"

"I'm sorry?" Surely Reid didn't _know, _somehow, that Matthew was going to come and wreak havoc?

"Matthew. How bad was he? I'm really sorry, I don't know why he acts like this, honestly, he just sort of… _does…"_

"Reid," Hotch said slowly, "did you know Matthew was coming today?"

"What?" The agent looked scandalized. "No, no, of course not. I made sure he didn't know where I worked, actually. But he sort of locked my bedroom door, only from the outside, and I _still _can't figure out how he flipped the lock without me waking up, but—"

"Reid."

"Yes?"

"_Please _tell me what's going on before I lose my mind."

"Oh." He looked sheepish. "Well, that's my twin brother Matthew. He has all the maturity of a ten-year-old. He's in town for a photo shoot with Aldo—you know, the shoe company? And I told him he could stay with me…well, he sort of broke into my apartment, but he's family, so you know."

Agent Hotchner _didn't _know, actually, but he didn't interrupt.

"…and last night he told me that he was going to go prove he could do my job better than I can, he _told _me, but of course I didn't listen and—Hotch, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you. He didn't emotionally damage anyone, did he? He tends to do that sometimes."

Hotch's mouth was dry and his mind blank when he said, mostly on autopilot, "He was harassing Prentiss."

"Oh. I'll go apologize to her right away, sir. He tends to do that, too—the whole sexual harassment thing."

Reid rose and was already out the door, messenger bag in tow, by the time Hotch thought to say anything, but by that time he was too late and let him go.

He could, vaguely, remember seeing in Reid's file that he had a brother—but he had never mentioned Matthew before, had he? But perhaps it made sense. He had only ever brought his mother up during the case with the Fisher King, after all. And Matthew had never been involved in any cases. Matthew had never been in danger.

And really, Hotch could understand not wanting everyone to know if you were related to _that._

From the bullpen, he could barely hear Reid as he tried to make amends on his brother's behalf –

"Hey Prentiss, I'm sor—OW! What was that for?"

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><p><em>AN:_

_The end._

_Lol._


	2. Prentiss Reads A Magazine

_A/N: _

_Summary: Reid is acting strangely. BAU team, meet Matthew Reid, 28-year-old terror._

_Notes:__ I was going to list this as complete and be done with it, but people seem to want to read more? Besides that, Matt's ridiculously fun to write. So… here's another segment ^^. I'm still going to leave this as "completed", but if you wanna read more, go ahead and put it on alert, cuz I might add some. This chapter and the one before it, though, can both stand on their own._

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><p><strong>Doppelgang'ed<strong>

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><p>II<p>

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><p>Reid was already halfway finished with his share of Morgan's paperwork by the time Prentiss had finished hers.<p>

Morgan was still hard at work, and she was pretty sure Reid wasn't _really _helping him, just doodling as he liked to sometimes do.

(Prentiss was not particularly eccentric—nerdy, perhaps, but not eccentric—but she had always had a particular fondness for Wednesdays and this one in particular did not disappoint her in its _average_-ness.)

She leaned back in her chair and tugged at one of the drawers in her desk until it opened. (Damn thing. Was there ever a day where it didn't stick?) Inside were a few magazines she'd picked up at the convenience store outside of the hotel they'd stayed at on their last case—she'd originally bought them to read on the plane ride home, but Morgan and Reid had started a game of poker and she'd joined them, instead. And so the magazines had ended up forgotten and abandoned for a while, in the drawer of her desk that always got stuck shut.

She hadn't even looked at the covers yet.

The one that lay on top was aimed at teenage girls, obviously. Prentiss worried that prolonged exposure might cause her to inhale a fatal dose of glitter, so she dumped it back into the drawer.

The second was a trashy tabloid with stars from shows and movies she had never seen splashed over the cover, with words like "pregnant" and "anorexic" and "suicidal" and "cheating" written all over it in obnoxious, red letters, each phrase ending in an exclamation point. There were a _lot _of exclamation points.

That, too, was banished back to the drawer that refused to open, where it would most likely never see sunlight again.

The last magazine was _Vanity Fair, _something that promised not to be too heavy nor too mind-numbing. Pleased with herself, she flipped straight to the middle, where an actress from a popular series of films was being interviewed.

She was only skimming it, unable to decide if she was interested or not, when the advertisement on the opposite page caught her eye.

Surely to say that it was Reid would be incorrect, but the model was thin a wiry, just like the man sitting not ten feet away, and his hair was light brown and wavy, just like Reid's. The only difference was that the model's hair was styled; tousled and made to look impeccably messy. Everything about Reid was honest and sincere, in his own way. Reid's hair was cute because he'd had it cut like that, or long because he'd let it grow out, or unbrushed because he'd been up since three in the morning on a case. Not because he was impressionable or purposefully making a "statement" or the style for young men was to look like they didn't give a fuck when they actually did.

Reid was Reid. The very point of a model was that they represented what someone else had thought of.

But the wavy brown hair and the wiry figure and the trendy glasses the model was showcasing certainly made the jump from Reid to male model just a little bit easier. The fact was it couldn't be, though. And besides, there was another model in the photo, also wearing the designer's glasses, and the way the two were walking by the purposely-vintage-looking barn—one looking back at the other, one balancing on a fencepost, about to fall off—made it obvious that it wasn't the same model, photoshopped into the same picture twice. The one on the fence held the other's arm for balance, looking like he was about to fall off. Reid didn't have a brother that she knew of, so it couldn't be him.

(Why was it so difficult for her to imagine gawky, awkward Reid a model, anyway? Was he really that un-model-like?

Poor Reid.)

Prentiss knew that it was the whole point of models, but the two actually looked completely adorable.

"Hey Reid," she found herself saying. "This guy looks just like you."

Reid stopped scribbling and raised his head to look at her, blinking a few times like he'd been sleeping, and then, putting all of his hundred and eight-seven IQ points to work, asked:

"Wha?"  
>"This." She flapped the magazine around obnoxiously. "Both of them. They're even wearing sunglasses!"<p>

"Oh," was all he said, raising one eybrow.

Morgan was more interested, grinning as he snatched the magazine from her. "Lemme see!"

Prentiss took great pleasure in watching Reid's face go red with embarrassment—once Morgan got involved in something, they both knew it would end badly for Reid.

Prentiss really did enjoy her Wendsdays.

"Damn, pretty boy, this really _does _look just like you," said Morgan, tying off his statement with an obnoxious wolf whistle.

"What does?"

Reid wasn't fast enough for JJ, who had appeared behind Morgan and was now squinting at the photo. "No way. Reid, this is you!"

"It is not!" he squeaked.

"Then why are you getting so defensive?"

Prentiss couldn't stop the wicked grin from forming when she saw that her comment made Reid glare at her as harshly as he could—Reid's glares were indistinguishable from a kicked puppy's.

"I'm not defensive. I'm just trying to…"

"Oh, come on," JJ teased. "You've been holding out on us, haven't you?"

"It's my brother!" He blurted, face even redder than before. Morgan just laughed, but Prentiss could tell by the look on JJ's face that she hadn't known, either.

"You have a brother?"

"Yes." He sounded like a mouse, squeaking like that. "My, um, younger brother. He models, not me."

"Reid."

Reid glared at Morgan and Morgan was looking at Reid with a "Are-you-really-not-telling-them-this-right-now-because-you really-have-to-or-I'll-do-bad-things-to-you" face. So Reid looked at Morgan with a "Hey!-Why-are-you-so-mean-to-me-face-you-have-no-right" face and Morgan returned with a "I'm-going-to-count-to-ten" face and then it was back to Reid with a pout and he finally said:

"Andtheotherone'sme."

"Wait, _what?"_

Prentiss felt like scowling. She should've gone with her gut. Of course it was Ried. Wait.

"_What_?"

JJ looked like she was glad Prentiss had said "what" twice; as if it covered her shock as well.

Reid looked miserable and embarrassed and very Reid-like as he pouted. "My brother lives in Vegas. He's in town and about three months ago he went to an audition for a shoot but they saw me, since I had to drive him there, because he drove his car into the lake _again_, and it's in Vegas anyway, but the, um, recruiter people… I'm not really sure what they're called in the modeling business… well, anyway, they saw us both and wouldn't give him the job unless we both did it since they liked the twins idea and he really needs the cash since he's kind of staying with me right now, for the most part anyway, and I'd really like him out of my apartment. I need to change the locks, because apparently he can get through the other ones, and I can't do that if he's still here…"

_Ah, _thought Prentiss. _Why thank you Dr. Reid, that clears it up perfectly._

JJ raised her eyebrows. "How have you _never _mentioned him before?"

Reid only shrugged, his face now not-so-red. "It didn't really come up."

"Are we ever going to meet this dashingly brilliant brother of yours?" asked Prentiss, trying very hard to keep some of the sarcasm out of her voice. Reid's genius, apparently, didn't run in the family, if she had heard correctly and this brother of his had really driven his car into a lake multiple times.

"You have met him," Reid said, somewhat sheepish. "You remember the day I came dressed like a sideshow act? And I apparently gave Morgan fashion advice and, um, was… flirting with you?"

"THAT WAS HIM?"

"You really never wondered how I changed clothes so fast?..."

Prentiss' mind could only come up with one response to that.

Oh.

"_Ohhhhhhhh_."

JJ had already moved on. "He was here? I missed it! What did he do? Emily, you never told me about this. Was _that _why you were smacking Reid that day?"

"Consider yourself lucky," said Morgan. "I've met him a few times now. What Reid's got in smarts are missing from this kid's head." He turned to Reid. "I really think you might want to get him tested or something."

"You think I haven't tried? I already have to tell him his Ritalin helps prevent wrinkles to get him to even think about taking it."

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><p><em>AN:<em>

_OMG._

_I'm so nervous about posting this. :( Some of the humor is a little "Scrubs" and I worry that it won't come across well in a fanfic (especially without JD's narration—oh JD, my lovely, where are you when I need you?) and I felt like the middle/end part was rushed and the beginning was boring and everyone probably just skimmed that, and it's BARELY four pages—1,700-something words— which is stupidly short, and Matthew's not in this one at all, which is probably boring, and this just isn't funny in the least. DOWNER…_

_Sooo… I wrote this at school, during free time in third, fourth, seventh, eighth, and afterwards in the library, and now I'm typing it up instead of doing homework, but it'll be so, so worth it if I hear what you think. And if you sort of like it, I could write more, and if not, I'll disappear in my dark hole of forever-alone-ness and die and then write deliciously angsty Harry Potter fanfics for my other account. Or something like that. _

_Oh, right. Matthew's the one on the fencepost, about to fall off, and Reid of course is the one he's grabbing onto. I imagine they both probably fell pretty soon after the photo was taken, considering Matthew's balance is probably the same as his maturity, and is equal to that of a small child :)_

_Review, my lovelies, if you would do me the honor._


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